A Hard Ride to the Yukon

And the near end of Motorcycle Robert

British Columbia

I didn’t post for a day because I needed to focus on riding. I was a little behind schedule, and I intended to remedy that. Yesterday I rode over 14 hours. I have never done that before. The road was great at times, not-so-great at other times. A fair amount of construction interrupted the flow. The scenery was beautiful, though.

Oddly, where I am seems quite familiar to me. I have been at the other end of the world several times, and one place is certainly reminiscent of the other. When you find yourself at these extreme latitudes, your body simply knows there is something “wrong.” The sun shines brightly, high in the sky. It is certainly a summer sun. So why isn’t it hot? Normally, the answer is altitude. But as you look around, you see that you are well below the tree line—in fact, you cannot see a tree line. So, what gives? Then, you must be near the North or near the South. I am not saying you make this analysis consciously, but you reach the conclusion nonetheless. I felt exactly like I feel when I am in the south of Chile.

The tales of wildlife are not exaggerated. I have come across three bears. Two of them were little, but one wasn’t. It was big enough to dispel any ridiculous man delusion that I could protect myself (without a gun or bear spray) against such a creature. I also encountered a very large elk (at least I think it was an elk) and a bald eagle, eating roadkill in the middle of the road. I was only a few feet away from it before it flew off. I will probably never have a chance to see a bald eagle from that close again.

But all is not fun and games. I nearly met my demise. I was riding on Highway 37—a two-lane, winding road, often with no markings, and certainly without “shoulders” or berms—when I took a blind corner. To my left was a drop off of some kind (as you drive north, a river or valley is generally to your left), and to my right was the rocky side of a tree-covered hill.

As I come out of the corner, two vehicles are facing me. A box truck is in its proper lane, and a car (I believe a Prius) is in my lane, attempting to pass. (This is a no passing zone, with blind corner after blind corner.) The car is immediately next to the truck, and only a few hundred yards from me. I am probably going 50 MPH, and so are they. I instantly know that even if the car driver slams on his breaks, he cannot get back in his lane before we collide. There is nowhere to go. The car cannot veer off the road. There is literally nowhere to go. To his right there is a box truck. To his left there is a rock wall.

Except for the help of the Lord Himself, that immediate realization saved my life. I did not hope for the car to do anything. I was certain it couldn’t. I slammed on both my front and back brakes. The bike wobbled, but the ABS did its job. Without thinking, I aimed for the only space available. I lane-splitted between both vehicles headed my way—meaning, I took the middle as I traveled 40 to 50 MPH one way, and two vehicles, each only a couple of feet from me, traveled the same speed in the opposite direction. It was Fast and the Furious nonsense.

It ruined the next couple hours of my ride. I had a pit in my stomach.

I thanked the Lord for keeping me safe. And that car driver should have been praising God as well. If I had done anything except for what I did, he would have killed me. If I had been in a car, we would have had a head-on collision, and he probably would have killed himself, his passengers, and myself.

But I made it to the Yukon! I never thought I’d say that. The Yukon seemed like a mythical place, like Siberia or Cincinnati. We all know these places are not real. Someone has to put them on the map to keep up the ruse. But, I can confirm: at least the Yukon is real. And it is wild.